Sleight of Hand
by msgenevieve447
Summary: Taking part in a séance to summon the spirit of a woman that your own mother murdered is weird enough. Finding yourself talking about your growing magical skills is just the icing on the cake. (Set during 318 and contains dialogue not written by me). CAPTAIN SWAN


Taking part in a séance to summon the spirit of a woman that your own mother murdered is weird enough. Finding yourself talking about your growing magical skills is just the icing on the cake.

"My magic gets more powerful every day." And with that, there is no longer anywhere to hide from the fact that she is the Saviour and she always will be, geography be damned, New York or Storybrooke, there's no escaping it, not anymore. "By the time this all goes down, I'll be ready."

Regina's pale face is anxious. "Make sure you are." Hook looks between the two of them, looking as though he wants to say a dozen things, but in the end, he chooses silence. Regina's heavy sigh feels like a dismissal, and Emma knows when to take a hint.

"Come on, let's go."

He follows her, as he always does, but tonight he's close, close enough for her to feel the warmth of him beside her. Just like old times, she thinks as she starts down the stairs, then her foot almost misses a step at the feel of his fingertips brushing the back of her blouse, ghosting over the small of her back. Startled, she turns to look at him, but he's already drawn his hand back. His gaze locks with hers for a seemingly endless second before he looks away, leaving her feeling strangely off-balance and more than a little confused. All night he's been withdrawn and apparently allergic to eye-contact, and now he tries an old-school move that she's seen her father use on her mother countless times?

Behind her, she hears her mother talking to David. "You know what, go ahead. I'm going to stay and talk to Regina. I'll help clean up."

Emma pauses, wondering if she should be worried about leaving her mother behind in a house where the spirit of Cora Mills was just summoned, and there's a sharp intake of breath from behind her. It's Hook, apparently doing his best to stop himself from bumping into her. Turning to look at him over her shoulder, she quirks one eyebrow at him. The man she's come to know would have taken great pleasure in accidentally colliding with her (_next time, don't stand on ceremony) _and it's just one more thing to add to the list of things that are niggling at her.

His face reveals nothing (which is yet another thing, because when did he start looking at _her _with that deadpan expression?) and she mentally shrugs. Maybe she's imagining it, she tells herself. After all, he's still at her side, flanking her the way he's done for so long, just as he's done every day since he brought her back from New York. And yet, there's an odd distance there, something that seems to have come upon him overnight, and she plans to find out exactly what's going on in that head of his, by any means necessary.

She shuts down her own train of thought, telling herself that the sudden buzz of adrenalin looping through her is simply a residual high from the séance and not because the thought of coaxing a secret out of Killian Jones by any means necessary makes her feel as though she can't catch her breath.

Oh, but it does. There is still way too much going on to seriously think about_ anything_ but the task ahead of them, but she knows the time is coming when she's going to have to deal with how he makes her feel. To her surprise, the notion doesn't terrify her as much as it used to, but that realisation alone is terrifying in itself. _ Complicated _doesn't quite cover her thoughts on the matter, obviously.

David is the first to speak when they're finally standing on Regina's front porch. "It's late. Ruby will be wondering where we are."

Emma's conscience twinges. Ruby had been great, offering to babysit at short notice (not that Henry would be doing anything other than playing video games) but David was right, it was after midnight. "Listen, David, do you think you could head back to the loft and check on them?" She wants to see her son, but she also wants a cup of hot chocolate and a quiet space to practice her magic, and while she can get the first at home, the second is a definite no-no.

The third thing she wants – well, there's no way she can explore that avenue at home either.

"Of course, but what will you two be do-" He breaks off, his gaze sliding from her to Hook, then back again, and the following five seconds are possibly one of the most awkward silences she's ever experienced. Finally he clears his throat and nods. "Not a problem. I'm sure your mother will call me when she's ready to come home."

Hook shifts restlessly from one foot to the other as David strides off to where his truck is parked. "You should get some rest, Swan."

"Not after that séance, are you kidding? I'm way too wired." She bumps her shoulder against his, and she definitely doesn't imagine the way he leans away from her. "Come with me to Granny's?"

"I know these are unique circumstances, Swan, but even the obliging Widow Lucas won't be open at this time of night."

She grins at him, determined to ignore his obvious attempts to part company with her. "I didn't become Sheriff just for the star-shaped badge, you know." Sliding her hand into her jacket pocket, she pulls out the copy of the diner key that Granny had bestowed on her after their return to Storybrooke and dangles it in front of his nose. "There are other benefits."

He hesitates, not even the slightest hint of a smile touching his lips, and something inside her curls up into a tiny ball, because this is twice in two days that he's turned down a direct invitation.

"Please." She drops the teasing tone and simply looks at him steadily. "I need to practice my magic and I can't do it at the loft with Henry there."

"You'll be fine, Swan. You don't need me to practice magic." He takes a half step away from her, his gaze dropping to his feet, and she knows she has one last chance to make him stay.

"I do, though." He lifts his head, but slowly, as though his private thoughts are too heavy for him to bear. "Having you around seems to make it easier."

_There,_ she thinks as he stares at her with wide eyes. She's said it, admitted it not just to herself but to him, and if he turns his back on her and walks away now, she's not sure what she'll do.

He doesn't walk away. He doesn't touch her, but he doesn't walk away. With a flourish, he gestures to her waiting car. "Then by all means, Swan. Lead the way."

* * *

She'd thought that her father thinking that she and Captain Hook were sneaking off for some adult activities might be the most awkward moment she'd have tonight, but the car drive to Granny's is a strong contender. For a man who never normally shuts up, the fact that she's having to do all the conversational heavy lifting is yet another sign that something is bothering him. She's never been so grateful that there's not a lot of ground to cover in Storybrooke.

"Not only did I get the key, but Ruby showed me where everything was," she tells him cheerfully as she rummages around on the business side of the breakfast counter. "Want me to make you a hot chocolate too? My culinary skills went through the roof during the year in New York."

He doesn't look up, nose buried in one of the many books Belle had given them earlier in the day. "I'm fine, Swan, thank you."

She shrugs. She can deal with brooding males. She has a teenaged son, after all. "Your loss."

She makes her hot chocolate, drinks it in three long gulps, then makes herself another, gradually becoming aware that Hook is darting glances at her from beneath hooded eyes whenever he thinks she's not looking. A different kind of warmth, one that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate, curls through the pit of her belly, and she knows it's time. It takes a few minutes and a few false starts, but finally it happens, and the rush is almost too much for her skin to contain.

"Boom!" Leaping to her feet, she turns to see her second cup of hot chocolate now gracing Hook's open book, and a rush of pure joy washes over her. Not a single drop spilled, either. "Granny's to Go! I should open a franchise."

"It's impressive." He unceremoniously removes the cup from his book, putting on his most serious face, but he's not fooling her. She saw his expression when that cup first popped up out of nowhere. He's impressed, despite his obvious (and baffling) attempts to appear above it all, and the thought makes her want to push his buttons all the harder.

She slides into the booth across from him. "You want to see something_really _impressive?" He puffs out a long-suffering sigh, but they both know it's a rhetorical question. Holding her own breath (and wondering at her daring, because really, it's a pretty personal thing, but what the hell, right?), she focuses on her target and waves her hand, delight bubbling up inside her as she literally _feels _the magic zipping through the air.

Along with his hook, of course.

He looks down at his left wrist, then up at his hook dangling from the coatrack behind her. His scowl is like a pinprick popping the balloon of her elation. "That's bad form, Swan, tampering with a man's hook."

Her laughter dies in her throat, sharp words rising up in its place, and she doesn't bother to swallow them down. "Okay, seriously, what is _up_ with you?"

Snapping his hook back in place, he gives her a little shake of his head, but not his eyes. "I apologise for my rudeness." He comes back towards the booth, and for a moment she thinks he's going to keep walking and head right out the door. "It's a long story." Sweeping his long coat to one side, he drops heavily into the seat across from her. "Too long for now."

Eyeing the flask of rum he's just produced out of thin air (the pirate version of magic), her heart sinks. "Okay." This little standoff of his has gone on long enough, the simple fact that he can't even meet her eyes making her stomach flip over with unease. "Obviously, something has-"

The harsh jangle of the diner doorbell slices through the air, and she sees his shoulders sag in what looks like relief. She doesn't have time, before Belle is rushing towards them, brimming with discovery, and a few minutes later, Emma is struggling to process what she's just heard.

Apparently, the Wicked Witch wants to travel back in time, and that can only be very, _very _bad.

With shaking hands (because seriously, what the _fuck_) she makes sure the kitchen equipment is turned off, then waits while the other two gather up the books. Belle is the first out the door, her impatience with them painfully obvious, and she's already on the footpath by the time Emma flicks off the lights. As Hook slips past her, putting at least a foot of air between them, she finally snaps. "Wait." She curls her hand around the crook of his elbow, tugging him to a stop. He freezes, but he doesn't pull away. "Remember when I said I didn't care what you'd done during the past year?" She doesn't try to keep the urgency from her voice, because she wants him to truly understand, because he's pulling away and she doesn't know why. All she knows is that she needs him more than ever.

His head is bowed. "Aye."

"I meant every word of it." She steps closer, deliberately leaning against the hard warmth of his shoulder, letting her breasts press softly against his arm. A tremor runs through him - she feels it, even through the leather - but he doesn't turn his head. "But that doesn't mean you _can't_tell me. I need you to trust _me,_ too."

He finally looks at her, a dark agony in his eyes that almost has her taking a step backwards. "Swan, I-"

For the second time that night, Belle's voice cuts between them. "We _need_ to get back to Regina's, now." Her tone is that a woman on a mission to save the man she loves, and with a shock Emma recognises an echo of her own urgent pleading. "Every moment we're not planning how to defeat Zelena is a moment in her favour."

Emma drops her hand, because there's a time and a place, no matter how much she needs to put things right between them. "We have to go," she tells him over her shoulder as she moves to follow Belle, and he quickens his pace to keep up with her. "We'll talk later."

Walking beside her now, he lets out an audible sigh, shaky and rough, but it sounds more like relief than dread. He still doesn't smile, but he gives her a sideways glance, letting his gaze lock with hers. "That we will, love." It's the first time he's used the habitual endearment in what feels like days, and her feet suddenly feel lighter where they touch the ground. "That we will."


End file.
